


if life is pain, then I buried mine

by sexyspork



Series: head in the dust, feet in the fire [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (as much as androids could be parented anways), Cyberlife fucked them up and then let them loose, Cyberlife's A+ Parenting, Gen, no beta we die like men, rated for Hank's language and past discussion of violence, somebody give them a hug for fucks sake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyspork/pseuds/sexyspork
Summary: The observation room has a tense sort of silence, the held breath before the rumblings of a storm, and Hank really fucking hates it.aka AU RK800&RK900 brother post-Eden Club feels





	if life is pain, then I buried mine

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little drabble directly related to this post of mine on [tumblr](http://nerdsgoquack.tumblr.com/post/177286007941/i-feel-like-the-game-really-missed-an-opportunity), but tldr, DeviantHunter!Connor and DeviantKiller!Conrad work as a pair tracking and terminating deviants.
> 
> RK brother feels happened, sorry not sorry

The observation room has a tense sort of silence, the held breath before the rumblings of a storm, and Hank really fucking hates it. The world is shifting, changing with each moment passed, and it's takes everything he has to plant his feet and brace against the waves.

It's a sick sort of voyuerism, knowing there's nothing he can do but watch. He wonders if Gavin has the same inkling, and if that's why he despises these two so much, because they are the future and there's nothing that can be done but become obsolete.

Connor is soft words and kind eyes, body language open and relaxed and the deviant subconsciously mimics him. He is the velvet glove to Conrad's iron fist, and Hank is always reluctantly impressed by his interrogations. He has it down to an art and Hank really wonders where the act ends and the machine begins.

He glances over at Conrad, who in turn is watching his archetype with a fierce, unwavering focus, and he'd probably go through the fucking mirror if the deviant so much as lifted a finger the wrong way, Hank thinks grudgingly.

"Why didn't you shoot?" He asks, unable to hold back the question that has been percolating in his brain for the last few days. He's been sober, unfortunately, and without the alcohol to filter out the screams in his head, his mind turns to other options to occupy it.

He gets a flick of stormy grey eyes his way before the android refocuses on the interrogation happening on the other side of the mirror. Hank can't help but clarify, unable to remove the trace of irritation that creeps into his voice. "At the club, you could have killed those girls. You and Connor had clear shots, so why didn't you?"

There's a pause, long and uncomfortable, but Hank's used to waiting. He's waited for one thing or another all his life ( _waiting waiting waiting, God, Cole, he's almost there, just wait a little longer_ ), and he's grown used to these fuckers, so he can outwait them both. Connor usually breaks first, a puzzled little furrow developing between his eyebrows, unable to keep silent and unable to figure out _why_.

Conrad is a little harder, more confused hostility than confused curiosity, but he's always two steps behind Connor, so when Connor breaks, so too does Conrad. Hank's lucky that way; there are some perks being alive for longer than a few months after all.

"Connor didn't give the order," the android said simply, like that would be the end all be all of this conversation.

"So? You're the Deviant Killer and I have yet to actually see that in action." Hank can't help but press, the cop in him says this is important, and he always listens to his instincts.

"RK800 #313 248 317 - 59," Conrad says slowly, the numbers having a heavier connotation than Hank is aware of. "That is Connor's serial number; do you understand the significance of the last two numbers?"

Hank shrugs, because shit if he knows.

"He is the 59th iteration of Connor."

"You mean there are 58 other fucking Connor's?" Jesus Christ he can barely keep up with one.

"No, it is a successive line. The previous ones were terminated with adjustments made to his memory and code as necessary." Conrad draws in an unnecessary breath, pausing for a moment as his LED flashed yellow briefly.

Just machines, yeah fucking right.

"Connor's programming was prioritized to analyze situations and adapt as necessary to achieve his mission. Should it be determined that he analyzed a scenario incorrectly, he would be forced to defend himself in combat, as statistically deviants are more likely to attack a perceived threat."

There's the slightest of twitches to Conrad's fingers, but Hank is focused on his face, watching the way Conrad watches Connor through the glass. There's an intensity there, grief and carefully banked rage lurking behind those blank grey eyes. 

Hank knows these emotions well, sees them day in and day out every time he looks at a mirror.

"He had to fight you." Hank says lowly, watching the way his LED flickers to a deep, bloody red before returning to an icy blue.

"It was to test and hone our capabilities. Should he survive the initial attack, we would be moved to a secondary location and he would track and try to eliminate me as he was programmed, but he would have to do so before I eliminated him."

The world's bloodiest form of hide & seek between brothers, Jesus fucking wept, Hank thought with nausea curdling in his gut.

"What is your serial number?" It's less of a question, more of a command, but Hank can barely think beyond the roaring in his ears. Fuck does he want a drink.

"RK900 #313 248 318 - 37."

Conrad doesn't look away from his counterpart in the next room, doesn't shift or fidget like Connor does when he is processing information. "If I came to the conclusion that the best course of action was to neutralize the Traci's at the club, in contradiction to his own, I would have also had to terminate him as well. A new Connor, with a more refined set of analytics, would take his place."

"You would have had to fucking _kill him_?!" He wants a drink. Fuck he wants one so. fucking. bad. Time to raid Jeffrey's desk for the whiskey he hides in the bottom drawer.

Conrad turns to him for the first time, face stripped of all emotion and Hank consciously does not look at the white knuckled fists the android has in his lap. "Machines cannot die, Lieutenant. But the mission with the deviants takes priority over everything and we do not have the time for Cyberlife to scrub Connor's code to update the analytic programs. This is the most efficient method at succeeding our mission."

Hank looks at him, really looks at him, and sees the wolf Cyberlife created then caged, bound only to the hunting hound who in turn was leashed tightly but with just enough slack to hang himself.

"Yeah," he murmurs turning back toward Connor, watching soft words and kind eyes mask the mercy he does not want Cyberlife to see. "Machines can't die."

**Author's Note:**

> Title: [ Paralyzed by NF](https://youtu.be/TrBFnpVnuOg) (shout out to Grable424 for making the most beautiful GMV I have ever seen, regardless of fandom, and I literally watched it over and over for an hour.)


End file.
